


No More (Albion Falls)

by Diana_Prallon



Series: The Fall of the House of Pendragon [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Arthur Finds Out, Betrayal, Broken, Broken Promises, Canon Era, Character Death, Creepy, Dark Arthur, Dark Character, Depression, Dubious Morality, Extremely Dubious Consent, Heavy Angst, Horror, Insanity, Love's Dark, Love/Hate, Magic Revealed, Major Character Injury, Minor Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Multi, Murder, Murder-Suicide, POV Multiple, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Torture, Twisted, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:06:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Prallon/pseuds/Diana_Prallon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your power shapes a kingdom, you're the one responsible for its punishments.</p><p>When you hold a man's soul in your hands, your lies may break it.</p><p>When you betray those who hold your secrets, your secrets will be spilled.</p><p>Merlin should've considered that before delivering Mordred to the Pendragon mercy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More (Albion Falls)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liafail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liafail/gifts).



> Abandon hope all ye who enter here.
> 
> I don't think I've ever written anything so consistently dark, so you're all forewarned. 
> 
> My eternal thanks to both Dark_K and Liafail for all their help in this, in giving their opinions and in proof-reading, betaing, and what-not. I shall never forget the worthy sacrifice of your tears. Special thanks for Liafail for giving away the plot to me. I hope this is up to your (angsty) standards. I should also thank everyone in the Merlin-chat, for their continuous support and company in GSD-ing; and of course, everyone in Merlin_Writers for word wars that helped in writing this much.

Mordred never fancied himself a traitor, but it seemed that this was the role destiny wanted him to play. He squared his shoulders and prepared for the terrible blow that would surely come. The guards pretended not to recognize him as they took him into the throne room.

 

The Queen’s mouth was set in a grim line, her hair pulled back tightly, a fillet of gold adorning her forehead. Arthur looked tired, beaten, and Mordred almost felt sorry for him -- but not enough to make it easier. He needed but a look at Merlin’s closed face to regain his determination. He was there -- as always -- a dark presence behind the throne, ready to whisper against his own.

  
Not anymore. Not if he could help it.

 

Mordred was no stranger to rage or anger. He was left alone in the world too young, by people that wanted him dead for the crime of being born. He had been used, betrayed, abandoned by his own people, and he had been forced to do the same. That only those who were the enemies of his kin would accept him was the terrible irony of his life.

 

But it was not anger that moved him now -- it wa justice.

 

As the men around him forced him to kneel, he didn’t fight back.

 

“Rise, Sir Mordred”

 

Arthur’s voice rang clear through the room. Mordred obeyed, and found himself surrounded by men that he had trained with, fought with. The court did not seem to be present; apart from old Geoffrey and Gaius the only presence that weren’t military were the queen and Merlin. He said nothing, and did not look up.

 

“You stand here accused of treason” the king did not seem angry, but resigned. “Of trying to help a convicted prisoner escape” there was a pause, but not a long one. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

“I plead guilty” he answered, his voice stable. “But I do not regret my actions.”

 

He heard Arthur huff, but he wasn’t a liar. There was no reason to lie.    

 

“This attempt cost the life of three good men -- men you fought with, men who you shared wine with; men you were supposed to be tied to by the sacred bond between knights.” Mordred suppressed a tiny pang of guilt at that. He had liked Sir Lamorak and Sir Randall, even if Sir Otwell had been a prick. “Do you not regret it?”

 

“I regret their deaths” he conceded. “Not trying to help Kara. I might have failed, but I wouldn’t be the man you know if I hadn’t even tried to save her. I broke the law, sire, but not your trust.”

 

He lifted his head to stare at the king in time to see his firm nod.

 

“It’s a noble impulse, Sir Mordred -- but not one that excuses your actions. I admire the loyalty, but that girl, Kara, she wasn’t… She couldn’t be saved.”

 

“You didn’t know her” he answered, darkly. “All you see is that she’s a druid, and one that was ready to attack you -- there was more to her than that. Me and Kara -- we grew up together. She was like a sister to me. Doesn’t matter how far…” he took a deep breath, controlling himself. “How far gone she was, I could not simply give up on her.”

 

“ _Sister?_ ” the word rang through his mind, but Mordred ignored it. He wasn’t about to indulge Merlin, not after everything.

 

“Tell me, sire, if you could -- if you had had the chance of saving Morgana before it was too late -- or even now -- if she would accept your help, would you turn away? Wouldn’t you have done the same, sire?” he challenged, his eyes on the king. “Haven’t you done the same, for those you love, even after they have done terrible deeds?”

 

He knew very well how deeply this rang in Arthur’s mind, how he blamed himself for how Morgana had turned up. He wasn’t above using it now. The king was consterned as he spoke again.

 

“Be that as it may, you broke the law” was the reply. “While the man may understand your reasons; as a ruler, I can not let it slide.”

 

Mordred nodded, he had been expecting that.

 

“You’re hereby stripped of your titles and holdings” Arthur started, and it was pure form, for Mordred had no possessions save for his armour, and even that had been a gift from the king. “You are no longer entitled to use Camelot’s colours, and you are no longer a knight. You are also banished from this land, never to return, on penalty of death.”

 

Through the corner of his eye, he saw Leon flinch, but they all knew it was a light sentence, a slap on the wrist. Treason was paid for with blood -- as Kara did. It might sound like complacency for some, but it didn’t mean anything for Mordred. He had no plans of leaving Camelot, not anymore.

 

“Is there anything you’d like to say?” Arthur asked, and that was the chance he had been waiting for.

 

“Sire” he started, and took a moment to breathe because it was harder than he had expected. “Sire, I have never lied to you about who I was. I have always been truthful - and before I tried to break her out of Camelot, I did plead with you for Kara’s life. I never meant to move against you, even if in rebellion. Kara and I were kin, and I stood for her as kin should” he allowed his eyes to flash towards Merlin, because those words were for him more than for anyone. “You have long known that I am a druid, and you have smuggled me out of this very dungeon yourself.”

 

“Yes, but -”

 

“I understand the difference, sire” he continued, not allowing the interruption. “I was but a child, whose only crime was to have magic. In accordance to your laws, I have tried not to use my gifts within Camelot - or I would have gotten away with her easily. I have no wish to harm you or anyone here. _I am no traitor_ , and certainly, I am no liar” he took a deep breath. “But I can’t say the same about all people that surround you.”

 

 _Mordred_ -

 

The voice in his head was like a warning bell, ringing loud and cold. It hit him like a physical thing, and he had to take a step to the side to balance himself again, pulling up his mental barriers with all of his strength.

 

“Sire, we have spoken of my first visit to Camelot and your infinite grace in saving me, but we have never spoken of how I came to be where you found me in the first place.”

 

“Morgana found you” Arthur said, his voice soft, as if remembering the woman she had been back then. Mordred moved his eyes towards the Queen as he shook his head.

 

“My lady?” he invited her to speak for the first time since he had entered. “Do you remember?”

 

“We were at the room” she started, her voice trembling. “Merlin walked in with him.”

 

All eyes on the hall moved towards the servant, who moved uncomfortably, but Arthur merely snorted.

 

“I am not surprised - Merlin has always had a mellow heart, and a soft spot for children. I wouldn’t expect any different of him. He is not a man to stand by and watch children die.”

 

“Maybe” Mordred said, not bothering to correct his assumptions. “But he did not happen to find me -- I _called_ him.”

 

All colour was gone from Merlin’s face, and he took a step forward, which made Arthur look between the two of them. There was a faint sound from the side, probably from Gaius, but clearly the king hadn’t understood yet.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, and it was Gaius’ turn to try and interrupt.

 

“Sire, I don’t…”

 

But Arthur’s hand was up, and he didn’t even look at the physician. Mordred whirled around for a moment, searching Gaius and Geoffrey, it was essential that they backed his claims.

 

“Druids - and other people with strong magic - have the ability to communicate without words” he said, and through the barriers in his mind he could feel the onslaught of mental agony, shouting. “I knew the wizards, us, druids, had been long waiting for who was at Camelot - there is no way of hiding such magic. So I called for him - and he came to my rescue.”

 

For someone who knew as little about druids and their abilities as Arthur, it would have been easy to disregard his words, but Gaius’ paleness and Geoffrey’s spooked expression towards Merlin must have given him a pause.

 

“That is preposterous” Arthur said, with a bark of laughter. “Merlin! A sorcerer - really, Mordred…”

 

“Not just any sorcerer” he continued, raising his voice louder. “Emrys. The most powerful sorcerer to ever walk this earth”

 

The name must have rung some sort of bell inside Arthur’s head, because he stopped and shook his head.

 

“You’re lying. Emrys is an old man - I know him” he grabbed Guinevere’s hand and squeezed it. “He tried to frame Guinevere for his enchantments and killed my father.”

 

Mordred had not heard about it before, but there was no doubt that Merlin could pull of an aging charm.

 

“Appearances can be deceiving, my lord” he said, steel in his voice. “Not so long ago, Morgana disguised herself as an old woman as well.”

 

“No” Arthur said, looking at Merlin, who was now trembling. Even from a distance, Mordred could see the sweat in his brow. “Merlin, defend yourself.”

 

“I -”

 

But Mordred wouldn’t wait for it - he wouldn’t allow Merlin to walk out of it yet again. There would be no more lies, he would make sure of that. Emrys was supposed to help Arthur towards a Golden Age, but Merlin was so deeply in love with his king, so completely, that he would defy destiny if it meant staying by his side. It hurt Mordred more than anything else ever had, to see their saviour turn traitor, ready to dismiss them for crumbles of love and cleaning of pots. Given half a chance of denying it, he would. Mordred might even strike him now, and he wouldn’t defend himself, if it meant Arthur would keep him close. So Mordred did the only thing that was guaranteed to make him reveal himself.

 

Arthur was still half-turned, looking at the servant, waiting for his words ridiculing Mordred’s accusations. With a swift movement, fast as a snake, Mordred broke free of his chains and trust his hand towards the king, the spell rolling off his tongue faster than anyone could have foreseen.

 

Emrys shone through Merlin’s golden eyes, protecting the man he had dedicated his life to. He was firm and sure as he moved again, attacking Mordred back.

 

He never even heard the words that robbed him of his life.

 

* * *

 

 

Gwen saw it coming before any of the others did - a light clink of metals, a pale hand being raised and melodious sounds from another language. The fireball was moving as soon as it appeared, she could feel the heat approaching fast. There was no time for fear, for panic, only blinking as it smashed against something where nothing stood, sparkles flying everywhere.

 

She saw Gwaine moving, sword in hand, almost reaching Mordred -- but he wasn’t fast enough, and with a blast of - wind? - they were both thrown back. For a second, there was no sound as her eyes moved towards the man that she once believed to be her friend. The gold was receding from his eyes, but there was still a glow in his skin, a treasonous shine.

 

Gwen did not remember standing up; and Arthur still hadn’t moved. There was no thinking when she called for the guards. Merlin didn’t fight back, head bent, his shame dragging him down.

 

“My Lady!” Gaius tried to protest, but she wasn’t having any of it. She had loved - loved - Merlin, and he had saved their lives more times than she cared to count, but it was safer for him to be away now.

 

“See to them” she interrupted, gesturing towards the bodies on the far end of the hall.

 

Nausea threatened to overwhelm her as she saw the results of the confrontation: upon impact, Gwaine’s sword had impaled Mordred. Blood was spreading from under his broken body, but there was peace in his face - almost a smile. It made her sick. Under him, Gwaine hadn’t moved, and it was hard to say how much damage the fall had caused in the midst of all the blood.

 

She turned towards her husband, but he still hadn’t moved, looking at the place where Merlin stood. It scared her far more than magic did - she had seen it before, in his father, after one treason too many. Would Merlin’s be the one to break him?

 

“Sir Percival” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “Please help the King back to his chambers.”

 

For all his size, Percival was gentle as he coached Arthur to move, leading him out of the hall. No one spoke - no one could. Leon was the first to break the silence, once Arthur was out of the room.

 

“My Lady… What should we do?”

 

Once, not long ago, she might have given orders. Once, not long ago, she might have taken the reins of things, and allowed her husband to recover. Once. Now, after all she had done, she didn’t feel as if she had the right, not anymore.

 

“We wait” she answered, sitting back down. “Now we wait.”

 

* * *

 

 

Golden eyes would haunt him to his death.

 

Merlin’s eyes, shining golden.

 

Golden -- like fire, like gold, like the sun.

 

It scorched everything around -- him more than anything.

 

It burned, and burned, and burned and the pain spread through everything.

 

Lies, lies and gold, gold and lies, like his sister, like his friend, like his knight.

 

And the gold followed him, burning him down, a puppet in master strings.

 

Strings of gold that wrapped him, commanded him.

 

He’d cut them up, he’d be free.

 

No friend, no sister, no lie.

 

No life.

 

He’d be alone.

 

Alone and sinking, sinking in a lake of gold, like a dream, so long ago; a woman with golden hair and golden eyes drowning him in a golden lake - Sophia? Was that her name?

 

But he had lived - lived to drown again and again in gold, in Morgana’s compassion turned to hatred, in Merlin’s innocence turned to murder.

 

And it burned, and burned, and burned and there was nothing left that was not real, all lies in gold.

 

Golden eyes, following him - protecting him, attacking him.

 

Lies, and lies and lies, all around him, wrapping him up and binding him down.

 

Was that what his father had been about to say, shining in blue, before he sent him away?

 

But the blue was magic too, and lies, lies like his mother’s arms around him, golden hair turned to lie, her white dress stripped with the same gold of the magic that had killed her.

 

The same magic that killed his father, burning gold through blue eyes.

 

Blue eyes.

 

Like Merlin’s.

 

Like Merlin’s.

 

Like the man on his father’s death bed, claiming his life.

 

Like Merlin’s -- blue to gold and back to blue, in a wrinkled face that was not his own.

 

But it was - those eyes, they’d haunt him until he died - those eyes -- and the frail hands standing over his father’s chest.

 

Like Morgana’s had been, when she planned for their deaths.

 

It had always been lies.

 

His life was made of lies.

 

Lies wrapped in gold - but fake as goblin’s gold.

 

He wouldn’t have any more lies.

 

Standing up, Arthur left the his chambers, ignoring Percival’s calls.

 

* * *

 

No one had came since he had been left there. Merlin didn’t even care -- although he might have expected it. Arthur’s face, twisted in shock and hatred, was burned on his lids. The dungeons were cold, even as the summer rose towards them, but it was irrelevant. His own heart was cold and the pain that shot through him had nothing to do with the manacles around his wrists.

 

That was not how he had imagined it -- planned it -- not how he had wanted Arthur to know.

 

But it was done, and he did not regret it. Mordred was dead, Arthur was safe, that was all that mattered.

 

If he had to lose everything for it -- his place, his life -- it was nothing compared to the relief of knowing that Arthur was safe at last.

 

He only wished he hadn’t hurt Gwaine in the process - he hoped his friend would be okay.

 

Still, he was not surprised when he heard footsteps approaching, nor when he saw Arthur’s unmistakable form nearing his cell. What _did_  surprise him was the look on his face -- it was well beyond betrayed, past even broken -- it was half-crazed, burning with hatred, his eyes like Morgana’s and never before he had been so clearly Uther’s child.

 

It hurt him more than the words out of his mouth.

 

“Call for the inquisitor”.

 

The guard near them rushed to do as the king commanded, while Percival arrived, looking worried.

 

“Sire” he said, his voice calm as ever. “Sire, be careful.”

 

It was like a knife twisting in his gut that the men that had been his friends now believed him to be capable of murdering their king.

 

“He won’t hurt me” Arthur’s voice was hard. “I’ll - I’ll break him.”

 

Merlin hadn’t expected anything different, he had no right to - and yet, it still hurt. Percival’s massive lungs taking a deep breath were like a bell ringing inside the empty dungeons.

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

 

His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but Arthur’s head whipped around, facing the knight for the first time since he arrived. His voice was both icy and sharp as he spoke.

 

“Sir Percival, go to Gaius and check on Gwaine. Let’s see how many deaths we have to pin on this sorcerer today.”

 

Guilt spread through Merlin, that was exactly what he had been fearing.

 

“Sire…”

 

“Go, Sir Percival” his tone brooked no argument.

 

Arthur did not turn to look at him again, and it was just a few seconds until the inquisitor arrived. A relic from Uther’s days; Cynric was almost as tall as Percival, and even well past his prime, his arms were still muscular as if he spent his days fighting. There were many scars marring his skin, and his nose had always looked broken in at least two places, crooked as it was. One of his front teeth was missing, and it made his feral grin even wilder, under the mop of dirty blond curls that were fairly mixed with gray. Merlin had known the man for years, and there was nothing gentle about his nature - he had despised the man and how he would mock his prisoners; Arthur had never requested his services, and his soft heart couldn’t bear to leave a man without his living even if it was nothing but a waste of the royal purse.

 

He seemed particularly pleased to have Merlin at his mercy -- but Merlin did not care. His life was Arthur’s, to do with it as he pleased - and he would take it all, as he deserved; for all the lies and the mistakes he had made, for all the guilt he carried and his failures.

 

“My Lord” the man said, a smirk on his face. “Do you require my services?”

 

“Take the sorcerer” Arthur spat, not even looking at Merlin. “Make him talk.”

 

The man’s smile widened, and Merlin felt sicker at Arthur’s thunderous face, at how the kindness and honour he had fought so hard to maintain had been broken by himself -- and for the first time since that morning, he wondered if his King would break.

 

No. He would not fail.

 

Cynric opened the cell and pulled him with unnecessary harshness -- as if he imagined Merlin would try to escape -- but where to? Arthur was his destiny, and there was no other path he could follow.

 

He walked without seeing through the dungeons he knew so well, only to be taken to the room he had always shunned. He kept his magic in rein as he was thrown on a table, spread like an eagle.

 

Once, the very image would have twisted Arthur’s guts -- now he seemed impervious to it.

 

Merlin had been expecting torture, but nothing could have prepared him for the feeling when the manacles clamped his arms. It was worse - worse than anything he had ever imagined, like he was boiling himself, his magic gone awry, his body shuddering, out of control. Cynric threw himself at his leg to bind it down, which only worsened the feeling. He could barely see Arthur but his face seemed shaken by it.

 

“What is that?”

 

Merlin felt his eyes rolling back into his head, his arms rattling against the wood, bruising him in a dozen places at once, but as Cynric clamped down the last one, the feeling subsided, leaving him empty - sick - as if part of him had been cut off. He felt the bile rising on his throat, and turned his head to the side, emptying his stomach. There was a gap between where his face was lodged and his tied arms, so the waste went straight to the flood. Small mercies.

 

“It’s the manacles, m’lord” Cynric spoke, his grin terrifying. “A thing of beauty” the man continued, gesturing towards them. “Made specially for sorcerers.”

 

“How…?”

 

“It clamps down magic” the man said, with a shrug. “I don’t pretend to understand how it works - sorcery and what-not, but it sort of turns it inside?”

 

“My father had this made?” Arthur’s voice was shocked, and Merlin’s heart flew higher seeing that there was still something that moved him.

 

“No” Cynric shaked his head. “We got it from the priestesses, we did -- nasty bunch of whores, they were too. I was half a boy in the campaign, oh yes - but it was glorious. This was part of the spoils -- savages, all of them, m’lord, ready to turn against each other for more power. So late King Uther - may god have his soul - handed down those to me father’s, and then to me, when he died. This beauty is part of what made Camelot safe for so long, oh, yes. They cannot resist it - I’ve seen it turning a man’s magic completely against himself as he tried to get rid of it with his own magic - a dragonlord too, and powerful - and it killed him stone dead, it did. The King was not happy - he wanted to burn him publicly, but what can be done?”

 

Merlin felt queasy, how much of it because of the manacles’ spell and how much from the tale, he could not say - it made no difference. Arthur’s face was set in stone as he spoke.

 

“Let’s get it started, then.”

 

“Toes or fingers, m’lord?” asked Cynric, seeming pleased.

 

“Toes” he answered, and Merlin had only one moment to wonder what it meant, before Cynric pulled it sharply, breaking the bones with ease.

 

“How many men have you killed with you magic?” Arthur’s voice was sharp, unbending.

 

Merlin couldn’t answer -- he didn’t know the answer -- and his King looked at the other man at once, and he moved right away to the next, pulling it out of place. Merlin bit his lips, wanting to answer but not managing to, and Arthur’s voice rang again.

 

“How many men? How many women? How many children?”

 

Cynric pulled another toe, and a scream got out of Merlin’s throat, as Arthur repeated the question, his tone flat.

 

“How many men? How many women? How many children?”

 

The same continued on and on, without change, his breath becoming ragged and sobs racking his body. When they reached the last toe, Merlin finally managed an answer.

 

“I don’t know -- I can’t -- Can’t count. But I did it for you, just for you.”

 

“Liar” Arthur’s voice was burning with hatred, in a way even Uther couldn’t manage. “You betrayed me - everything you say are lies”

 

Arthur gestured towards Cynric, and the huge man grabbed something that Merlin couldn’t see.

 

“You know what we do with sorcerers” Arthur spat.

 

Merlin didn’t have time to think before the hot metal was against his skin, burning it all away.

 

“How long have you been lying?” he asked, on the same tone. “How many years? How many lies?”

 

Tears streamed down on Merlin’s face and he lost control of his bladder, and he wanted to speak - but he couldn’t. Cynric reached to his body again, and he yelled.

 

“How many years? How many lies?”

 

The iron burned against his skin, and he had to struggle to keep his magic in check as it tried to defend him - to free him, little knowing it might cost his life - the effort was almost too much for him.

 

“How many years? How many lies?”

 

Merlin cried, his voice wobbling as he spoke.

 

“Always.”

 

He had thought Arthur’s back couldn’t become straighter, but it did at the answer. Merlin sobbed again, his voice rattling as he spoke.

 

“I wanted to tell you....”

 

“You’ve been lying to me all this time” There was no emotion on Arthur’s tone, not even pain. It was as if he couldn’t even register. His hand gestured towards Cynric, and the man’s iron pressed against his ribs, the stench of his burning skin making his stomach roll along with the pain.

 

“Why?” Arthur’s voice rang in the cell. “Why?”

 

“For you” Merlin sobbed, not from the pain in his body, but for the one in his heart. “I’ve done it to protect you.”

 

“I don’t need the protection of a sorcerer” Arthur spat, yet again, rage boiling through him. “Or that of a liar.”

 

He gestured again, and Cynric’s flaming rod met his body in a practiced slash.

 

“How many bodies have you laid at my door?” the King asked, his eyes burning with madness -- a Pendragon through and through. “How many _others_  have you killed? How many innocents?”

 

“No - no innocents” he gasped, his heart far more torn than his body could ever be. “Sorcerers, mostly” he took a deep breath, needing air that did not smell like his own broken body, but there was none. “Only those who threatened you”.

 

He was ashamed at how his own voice sounded, pleading non-stop for some mercy and getting none. Uther’s inheritance clearly went far beyond the borders of Camelot or the castle, it meant also hatred and the very corruption he had so often tried to clear away -- and wasn’t that his own fault? Hadn’t Merlin turned Arthur further and further away, feeding his fears when it came to magic that had allowed this to happen?

 

His king -- his friend -- saw him as the enemy, and that was his own doing.

 

“Mordred was no threat to me” Arthur replied, his voice tired. “He was honest - he was true - unlike you.”

 

Merlin tried to shake his head, but there was no space for that.

 

“He’d have gone straight to Morgana” he said, his voice sure. He knew it -- it had long been foreseen.

 

“You’ve always hated him” Arthur replied, shaking his head. “You’ve claimed for his death enough times -- are you happy now?”

 

He was tired of lying, there was nothing else he needed to hide. He had many regrets in his life, but this was not one of them.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Father was right” Arthur said, his voice like steel. “You’re all monsters.”

 

This time, the King grabbed the burning stick himself.

  


* * *

 

 

As Cynric brought Merlin's limp body back to the cell, Arthur's mind continued to reel. It didn't seem possible -  real - that this was the very same man he had known all these years. What had he done so that all those around him chose to betray him?

 

His father. His sister. His uncle. His first knight and his wife, the boy he had saved, and the man he had trusted above all else.

 

And only one thing in common among them all: magic, the foul power that was forever trying to destroy all that he built.

 

He turned towards Cynric, his face closed off.

 

"Leave us. Tell the guards I want no one in the dungeons until I am out."

 

He needed more than the broken answers he had gotten from torture - he needed to rage and to rant and Merlin to take it all. He needed to unburden his heart one last time, before it all ended. He had his own accusations - confessions - to make and he wanted no witnesses for it.

 

"What were you thinking?" He demanded to know as soon as the footsteps fell away.  "What could have possibly led you to do _this_? Why did you betray me so?"

 

"I didn't " Merlin pleaded, his voice gone wobbly. "I didn't- please, Arthur,  please... I never meant to betray you. I never- you are my whole life... I-I- lov-"

 

“ _That_  is not love - you don’t _know_  what love is. This is - obsession - lust - power - not _love_. It never was.”

 

His sobs broke a barrier inside Arthur, long standing,  but it did not calm the rage in him. He didn't even know what he was doing as he grabbed Merlin through the tunic and hit him against the prison wall.

 

"Why, Merlin, why?" He repeated, ignoring the tears streaming down his face, in a mirror of the warlock's. "I trusted you - I loved you - I trusted you,  I-"

 

But words would never be enough, would never truly convey the extent of his betrayal, how broken it had left him, they would never fully explain the things he could barely understand himself.

 

It wasn't a plan - or even a thought - more primal and visceral than either when he moved his head forward, not in a caress but in punishment as their lips met. Merlin gasped, and Arthur licked into his mouth, trying to taste the lies it spoke for so long, to capture the truth inside. Their teeth clashed, no finesse in the movement that was more a war than a kiss. He man moaned under him as Arthur bit his lower lip carelessly, drawing blood. It flooded his mouth, and on his tongue were the lives of those killed in his name. Yet - as Merlin kissed him back, he was completely gone.

 

There was no shred of rational thought as he used his body to pin the other man against the wall, or in way he rutted his hips. Arthur was dimly aware of Merlin's arms around him, pulling him closer and of the reaction of their bodies to the kissing.  He let his lips roam to the long neck, biting it hard, marking Merlin as his - his to have, his to punish, his to love, his and no one else's, and certainly not magic's to corrupt.

 

He knew he was drowning in his scent, in his sounds, in his skin and he did not care - could not care - there was no reality but Merlin's body, soft and eager under his own as he pushed down their trousers and raised the man's legs. Arthur didn't wait for a moment before pushing his body up, did not listen the scream it tore from the other man, or how it turned into a moan midway. He had sank, completely, inside the other man's body, all thought gone.

 

Arthur leaned in for another kiss, capturing the traitor's mouth, and listening to Merlin's voice chanting his name against his lips as he thrusted relentlessly. He could feel the man's hardness pressed to him, his arousal leaking on the white tunic Merlin loved so much.  Arthur pulled away for a moment, taking in his reddened lips, the blown pupils, the wrecked gasps, his name as a pagan prayer in Merlin's sinful mouth, looking into the eyes, blue, as they should always be, feeling the softness of his battered skin in his hands, the muscles that gripped him, pulled him, asking for more and he never wanted to stop, sinking in again, hatred turned to love.

 

Nevertheless, reality always found a way to creep back in, as Merlin shouted his name and came hard, gold tinting his once blue eyes.

 

What was he doing?

 

Arthur felt his manhood shrinking on the sight of betrayal, pulling out in a jerky move, heart broken once again. Merlin yelped as he landed on his abused feet, and fell in a heap to the floor, his voice small when he spoke.

 

"Arthur, please -"

 

"Don't" the king replied, his body trembling. "Just don't. "

 

Tucking his clothes back into place, he avoided looking at Merlin's direction as he did the same. Shame crept through him - this was beneath him, this dirty, sinful acts - even more so with a liar, traitor and sorcerer.  His anger rose even more than before.

 

“Was this your doing?” Arthur asked, his body trembling.

 

“What?”

 

“This” Arthur gestured between them, their disheveled hairs, bleeding lips, stained shirts. “Was this what you you wanted -- what you’ve _always_  wanted?”

 

Merlin blinked, for a second, before a blush crept through his neck, reaching his face - and it burned in shame, and he looked away for a second before letting out a tiny nod.

 

“I’d never even dream - or admit - but…”

 

"Did you enchant me?" He interrupted, his voice ragged "This- this this isn't me. Did you try and warp me into some sort of..."

 

Merlin's head shook in a continuous denial, his eyes huge and back to blue, horrified.

 

"I'd never- I swear, I'd _never_  use magic to... " he shook his head again, "I promise, I'd  never..."

 

And hearing oaths from the same person that had betrayed him, fooled him, led him to do things he never would, to besmirch his own honor, was the last straw towards rage.

 

"Your oaths are all profanities, your words a curse - your name on a paper is a waste of pulp." Merlin, however, wasn't even looking at him, his eyes glossed out, and Arthur snapped. "I'm vilifying you, for God's sake, pay attention."

 

But the other man just shook his head lightly and his reply was no answer when he spoke again, voice filled with sorrow and soft as a feather.

 

"How, from where we started, did we ever reach this day?"

 

Arthur barked out a laugh at that, but there was no humor in his tone.

 

“How?” he repeated, disbelieving. “You wonder how? You lied to me, you made a fool out of me -- a puppet, not a king -- and you betrayed me completely. Where else would we be?”

 

Merlin just shook his head again, unseeing.

 

“I believe in you” he repeated, even now. “I was just waiting for the day I could trust you with _everything_.”

 

“Waiting? For how long? How much more could you _possibly_  need? For someone who claims to believe in me, you sure didn’t act like it - and the _fool_  that I am, believed in _you_  - in your loyalty, in your integrity…”

 

Merlin flinched at this tirade, and Arthur kicked the bedpan that was mercifully empty. It hit the wall where his manservant was crouched by with a bang.

 

“I-” he started, his voice shaking. “I know that… But I couldn’t - couldn’t - you were _happy_  you were _safe_  - and then Mordred - Mordred. He was meant to kill you - he was _destined_  to kill you - a prophecy - and I’ve seen it; I’ve seen it happening and I couldn’t - couldn’t - I _had_  to… He was powerful, _very_  powerful - when we went to that lake, to save Gwen, he… He handled Morgana single-handedly - but he was meant to be her ally - he was meant to be _hers_  and to kill you…”

 

Arthur tried to make sense of his words, but it was too much - too much information, or not enough - even if he _was_  inclined to believe it.

 

“He did not kill me” he pointed out, his voice harsh. “He was true - he was loyal - he was… And you killed him.”

 

“He attacked you” Merlin answered, as if it was reason enough. And - yes - the letter of the law would have asked for his blood regardless, but it did not give Merlin the right to pass judgment.

 

“Did he?” Arthur asked, sagely. “Or did he provoke you? Force your hand?”

 

Merlin’s head hung from his neck, as the man took a deep breath.

 

“Yes - yes. He did.”

 

“So - he knew - he knew even before I did - he _knew_  it and he knew _you_  and that you’d lie again, as always, and forced you… And you say you believe in me.”

 

“I do” Merlin replied, his voice stronger than it had been before. “And I love you.”

 

“I don’t” Arthur spat back, lying to Merlin as the man had lied to him.

 

Without another word, he left.

 

* * *

 

Gwen didn’t know what to expect when she walked inside their bedroom, but certainly it wasn’t this -- Arthur was disheveled, his hair askew, his clothes soiled, his eyes burning in a way she had come to associate with Morgana -- or Uther. He stared right through her when she came in.

 

“Arthur” she said, carefully. “What happened? I heard you called Cynric.”

 

His face twisted in a grimace.

 

“I did what had to be done” he said, his voice flat.

 

“Arthur…” she pleaded, knowing she had no right to. “Arthur… Tell me you didn’t… Tell me he’s still there.”

 

“He’s still there” he confirmed, but that did little to ease her fears.

 

“Arthur - he’s always been loyal. He’s been your friend for ten years - don’t…”

 

“What?” he asked, anger clear in his expression and in his tone. “Don’t _what?_ ”

 

“Have you considered…” she took a deep breath. “It might not be _him_? It might be Morgana’s doing? It wouldn’t be the first time she…”

 

“You heard Mordred” he answered, defeated.

 

“So you’ll believe a boy that was ready to betray you before believing the man that has always stood by your side?” Gwen was angry, very angry for Merlin. She had called for his arrest - but that was much more for his own protection than anything. She had seen first hand how people reacted to sorcery; how Morgana’s spell might twist someone inside - she had seen it in Merlin before, she had felt it in her own flesh.

 

“He confessed” Arthur’s answer knocked the air out of her. “He confessed all of it. He’s not the man you think he is.”

 

“No” Gwen said, disbelieving - but Merlin had always been… _odd_ , and wouldn’t that explain so much? She could well imagine what would lead him to it - anything for Arthur, anything to keep him safe, to keep him warm. Merlin loved Arthur in a way that was all-consuming, all-encompassing, in a way she never could, even if she wanted to, because it was _too much_. In a way that had often discomfited her, but she had never truly resented because it had often been the difference between life and death for the man she had married. “Even so…”

 

“He’s a liar” Arthur said, grabbing the chalice on his desk and throwing it away. “A liar and a traitor - everything that comes out of his mouth is filth.”

 

Gwen shook her head, and tried to reason with him.

 

“He _loves_  you, Arthur, he must have…”

 

“Don’t even say that word” the man replied. “Don’t try to defend him, Guinevere - if you knew - if you _knew_  - the depths of his betrayal, you wouldn’t…”

 

“I honestly doubt…” she stared, but he cut her off again.

 

“Don’t. Don’t. Just… Let me be, Guinevere.”

 

These words hurt far more than they should have, another proof that he’d never fully trust her again. She fought against her emotions, keeping them out of her face - out of her voice.

 

“Very well. I’ll be in my chambers - you can sleep alone tonight.”

 

She turned around and walked out of the door, tears roaming freely when he didn’t even reply to her, nor asked her to return.

  


* * *

 

 

Merlin was a sorcerer. The man he thought his best friend had been using magic behind his back.  
  
Arthur had no idea how long he had been in his room, his mind reeling from shock and confusion. The last ten years of his life had been nothing but a lie. He kept wondering -- imagining -- if Merlin had always been like this or what had turned him. A magic user, in the heart of Camelot.

 

And, suddenly, so much made sense. He kept replaying events in his mind, torn between exasperation and hatred. How could he? How often had Merlin warned him about traitors in Camelot, while being one himself? The man’s hypocrisy was maddening, as was everything else about him.

 

And if he had always been a sorcerer, no wonder he showed Arthur so little respect when they met. Suddenly, the words of his first encounter came back - Merlin’s claims of being able to defeat him with less than a blow rang true in the light of his new findings.

 

Was this how his father had felt? When he learned of Morgana’s betrayal? As if he was falling through a dark, endless pit -- as if nothing would ever be the same again? As if he had failed everything he stood for?

 

But -- no. Morgana had been his child, even if Arthur never knew it. It must have been a bigger shock, a more complete betrayal. Merlin was only his friend.

 

Nimueh had been his father’s friend, if the rumors were true.

 

She had been his friend and yet, she had killed his mother.

 

A life for a life - Arthur’s for Ygraine’s - a choice she had no right to make.

 

Whose life had Merlin traded? How many of them?

 

And the violence -- all the power, flowing out so easily, all that blood with nothing more than the blink of an eye. From what he had heard, Mordred had been a powerful warlock, but in Merlin’s hands he had been nothing more than a ragdoll being torn by a hunting dog.

 

Merlin, who flinched at the hunting, claiming it was useless killing of innocents. Merlin, who balked at most shows of violence. Merlin.

 

It made no sense that he could turn into a murderer so easily, so without remorse - because there was no remorse in his eyes, no guilt, not when it came to Mordred. How many times before had he done it? How easily? What sort of monster was he harbouring under his own wing?

 

He had said it had all been done to protect him - that it had been so for years. All that bloodshed in his name. Merlin had made no difference between magical and non-magical, as if his kin meant as little to him as family meant to Morgana. Was this not the ultimate proof that magic corrupted? How could he stand - ask - for executions of the very people that seemed to worship him? How could he...

 

Should he have known earlier? Was there a small part of Arthur that had always suspected, always known? Had some hidden side of himself that had been glad to see the boy turned a killer, a rabid dog, tearing up his enemies? His very own witchfinder, raining destruction on anyone who might object?

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

He would never have had it -- he had loved Merlin’s innocence, his compassion, his…

 

Morgana had been like that too, once. And look where it had led her. Led him. Led them.

 

How much of it all was his fault?

 

Merlin had lived with lies for years, hiding and crouching, waiting and plotting. Not even once had he believed he might be honest with the King he claimed to serve. It was Morgana all over again - she also had never been able to trust that he’d see beyond his father’s actions and try to help her in spite of it all.

 

He had loved them - he had failed them.

 

Darkness and madness had consumed Morgana from inside, tearing her apart, burning everything away until there was nothing left from the woman she once was. But when it came to Merlin - he could still see something - however tiny - of the boy he used to be before. It might be foolish to hope, to expect that he might still be saved; but if there was any truth to his words - if he had ever been led this way in Arthur’s service, he was bound to try. It was his duty - as a master, as a friend.

 

He would listen. He had to listen. Otherwise the doubts would eat him away as they had done to his father, a mere shell wrapped in bitterness and shock as he had been - and that was not the Camelot he had wanted to rule. There was no little prince ready to take the reins, to allow him to wallow in self-pity.

 

Whatever masterplan Merlin had, it did not involve harming him in anyway. Although it would’ve been easier for him - for all his kin - if he stood with Morgana, he had not left his side. For that alone he deserved to be heard.

 

Part of him wanted to walk right back into the dungeons and lay down all his questions, demand all answers -- but, no. The torture had been severe, and it was best if he let his former manservant rest for a while - and be cared for, he needed to be taken care of. Arthur opened the door, and told the guard to send Gaius to the prisoner - no need to explain which one - and went back inside, to the chambers his wife had shunned - it was for the best, really - he did not need another accusing pair of eyes. In the morning, he would return. In the morning, he would know the truth. In the morning, all would be well.

 

* * *

 

 

Merlin was lost in slumber when he first heard steps coming his way - he didn’t even stir from where he was, uncaring, Arthur’s parting words engraved in his heart. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, but there had never been another option: Arthur had always been the reason for everything he did, the very reason he was born - the other side of his coin, as Kilgharrah would say. How marvellously he had screwed up.

 

The cell door opened with a mighty clang, and still he didn’t raise his face, fearing the hatred he’d see in whomever had been sent to him - men and women who had once been his friends, but that would feel almost as betrayed as Arthur. If there was one thing he regretted was that his counterattack had not only exposed him, but also Arthur, putting him in a fragile position.

 

“My boy!”

 

Gaius voice shook him out of his state, but his face was terribly shaken. Merlin could only wonder how much worse it’d be when he saw the rest. The old man put down his satchel on the cot that was the only thing in the cell save for the bedpan. He watched as his tutor straightened up his spine and turned around to the men who had been posted in front of his cell.

 

“Get me a stool - and water, three buckets.”

 

One of the guards - Ardan, Merlin remembered, twisted his face in a scowl.

 

“He’s a prisoner, not a fucking guest.”

 

Gaius rose his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Merlin couldn’t find strength to care - it was nothing but the truth.

 

“The king himself sent me orders to see to him - would you disobey him?”

 

Ardan scoffed at that, with a shrug.

 

“The king - what a joke he is - being fooled by the likes of him” his head gestured with his head towards Merlin, and _that_  was the reason he had kept his secret for so long - this was a position he had never wanted Arthur to be.

 

“Come on, Ardan” said his mate. “Better give the old man what he wants, or he’ll find a way to talk the king into punishing us - even late Uther…”

 

“Yes - best idea you ever had, Celsius” the physician replied, his back tense. “And make it quick.”

 

Gaius closed the door again, not waiting to see the rest of the conversation. Still they heard Ardan’s complaint as he walked away.

 

“‘Not a fucking maid…”

 

His tutor looked torn between scolding him and treating him, as it was often the case. With a deep breath, he gestured towards the small cot.

 

“Get onto it, come on.”

 

Merlin climbed slowly on the bed, still not speaking.

 

“Arthur will relent” Gaius started, his voice encouraging as he set his things at the bottom of the bed. “Off with the shirt, come on”

 

Merlin stripped the ragged remains of his beloved blue tunic, and Gaius eyed him carefully.

 

“Cynric’s work, no doubt” he said, looking at the burnt flesh. “And filthy, as usual. Did he use the manacles?”

 

The younger man could only nod.

 

The two guards came back, each carrying their load. Aiden set down the two buckets down the foot of the bed, but spit to show what he thought of it. Celsius did no such thing, merely set the stool for Gaius to use.

 

As the two man left, the physician sighed and started to work - carefully as ever even in his old age. Merlin could barely feel the touches on his skin, although he knew it was probably burning and aching - it was nothing, _nothing_  compared to the pain inside his heart. He had failed -- failed his destiny, his kin, his king.

 

Gaius’ hands worked through his skin in silence for a while - using a washcloth to wash away the the grime that had been stuck to his body, mixed with burnt skin and blood. Merlin hissed when the old men moved towards his feet, his toes deeply sore after both fire and broken bones. The old man tutted, but didn’t seem too worried.

 

“It’s a clean break - it should heal easily after being bandaged. I’m afraid the skin will hurt more than the mending bones” he sighed, sadly. “It was a foolish thing to do, but the right one too - Arthur will see it soon.”

 

Merlin half-shrugged.

 

“He hates me Gaius” taking a deep breath, he got ready to be honest with him. “I told him - I told him I had always used it for him; I told him… But he told me he needed no sorcerer protecting him.”

 

“It’s a lot to take in, Merlin” replied the old man, always trying for the middle ground. “That a servant would be able to protect him, a warrior, it hurts his pride.”

 

Merlin just shook his head again.

 

“He told me his father was right - that we are all monsters.”

 

That gave Gaius a pause, but soon the man started working again.

 

“Give him time.”

 

“I don’t think I _have_  time to give” Merlin confessed, and a sob racked through him. “No matter - no matter what - even if - if he ever could - I can’t _live_ , Gaius. You’ve heard them - it’d cost his kingdom…” it would never be a true choice under these terms. “Doesn’t matter - I will - I have failed in many ways, but not this. Mordred is dead. Arthur’s safe now.”

 

“There’s still Morgana” the old man warned, but Merlin snorted at that.

 

“She’ll never get him. Camelot will be safe even after - even without me.”

 

“Don’t say that” asked the physician. “He’ll come around.”

 

“He won’t” promised Merlin, knowing it to be true - this was the ultimate betrayal, and the way he had spat Merlin’s loyalty and love back to his face - that made it clear that whatever they had between them was beyond repair. Forever. Gaius didn’t even deign to reply.

 

“Take off your trousers.”

 

The words were like a bucket of ice falling through him - he couldn’t - there was much he was ready to share, but not that - not those moments he’d save forever (in the short span of life he had to call forever, at least). Gaius would never understand - he’d turn it into shame and hatred. Merlin trembled at the words alone.

 

“No.”

 

“Come on, Merlin” the physician continued, blind to his terror. “Of all the times to develop a sense of decorum, this is _not_  it - you’re filthy.”

 

“Not - not the pants” he tried to claim, but the stench around him gave away the lie.

 

“Merlin!” the old man said, raising his voice. “Don’t make me lock you down on the manacles like some sort of thief.”

 

The idea of having anything clamping his arms again -- even common iron -- made him shudder, and Gaius, losing the little amount of patience he had, started to pull down the fabric. Merlin knew it was useless to try and argue now, there was no way…

 

“You soiled yourself” Gaius commented, still pulling it down. “There’s no shame in that, it’s…” He stopped mid-sentence, and Merlin closed his eyes, hoping that it would make the humiliation go away. “Merlin, that’s… blood.”

 

Still, Merlin said nothing. His mentor kept pulling down the trousers, more insistently now, with a vigor one wouldn’t expect from someone his age. He let out a strangled gasp when he saw it -- all of it; the bruises he could only feel on his hips and legs, the remains of urine and sperm that clung to his groin and pubes, and the dark mark of clotted blood under his buttocks.

 

“What happened?” he demanded, but the younger man did not reply - it was his, his alone, not to share, not to be tainted by… Even if it had ended in hatred, there had been something else there, for a moment - something he had wanted more than anything, far more and beyond the dreams of Albion or magic.  

 

He felt a tickle on his face, and opened up his eyes to see the man leaning in, looking at his mouth more carefully, observing the marks in his neck.

 

“This was not torture” Gaius declared, and there was an icy rage in his tone. “Who did this to you?”

 

Merlin merely shook his head, unwilling to talk - looking away resolutely.

 

“Let it go, Gaius” he pleaded, his voice small.

 

“Was it the guards? Arthur will have their heads if…” something on his expression must’ve given him away, because Gaius’ next words were far more removed, more damning than any curse could be. “It was… It was him, wasn’t it?”

 

Merlin wouldn’t do it, he wouldn’t betray Arthur again, he wouldn’t give up their secrets.

 

“Merlin, was it the king?”

 

Not Arthur - the king, the way he once spoke of Uther when the man had disappointed him. Merlin closed his eyes again, praying that the man would just let it go - and he did.

 

“I’ll take care of you, my boy. Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of you.”

 

Not another word was said.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Arthur a few seconds to understand what had woken him up -- but the unmistakable sound of steps echoed in the room. His hand immediately curved around the dagger he kept under his pillow -- present for so many years, since Morgana had turned on them -- and its weight was comforting for a while, but as he sat, the soft light from the candles around the desk allowed him to recognize the person standing there.

 

Allowing his hand to slacken around the weapon, Arthur spoke.

 

“Gaius?”

 

With his mind still working more slowly than usual, it took him a moment before he fully took in the image before him - there was no doubt that it was his physician in front of him, but for all his eccentricities, there was something particularly odd about the way his hair was out of place, his  eyes rimmed and red from crying. It brought a moment of complete desperation - was it Merlin?  Was he in a worse condition than he had thought? Had his rage, inexperience and, he would admit, cruelty caused more damage than he thought? Yet, for all that had suffered, Merlin seemed almost untouched by in when he had left the cell. Had he… No. He couldn’t even think it. Merlin wouldn’t - couldn’t - do that to him, not when he had been ready to listen to him at last.

 

The old man shook his head, before raising his hand, eyes shining golden in the darkness of the room, and Arthur felt his hands being tied by an invisible force.

 

“Gaius!” he gasped. “Did you just enchant me?”

 

“You- You horrible man!” the man’s voice seemed different, more guttural, as if his throat had become sore from screaming. “Uther at least could blame grief for his madness - but you!” He shook his head, eyes wide, and the strings tying him became stronger. “You - what else could he - how could you abuse him like that?”

 

Arthur flinched - once he had come to his senses, he had regretted his actions; the sheer brutality of his actions, how shameful they were. There was nothing he could say to defend himself, even if he wanted to. Gaius had the right to rage against him - he would never deny that - but he had never imagined that the old physician would use magic against him, even if he long knew he had the power to.

 

Like Merlin.

 

Unlike Merlin, Gaius didn’t seem to care anymore. He continued speaking, but his words were a mumble of wrath, curses slipping through his lips in between gasps, and Arthur couldn’t believe the reality around him as he was forced to stand up through magic.

 

The old man leaned against the desk, head against his own chest, trying to still himself. After a few moments, his breathing went back to normal, and he dried his eyes with the back of his hands. Steeling himself, the man looked back at the king.

 

“Don’t make it harder, sire. Walk with me.”

 

With the magic pulling him along, Arthur couldn’t refuse even if wanted to. He considered the possibility of calling for guards - but the ones outside his chamber and around their way were all suspiciously asleep. It seemed that all had been well planned, and whatever he might have done, it was unlikely that Gaius hadn’t a contingency plan for it; he was a careful man and a scholar, often considering the safest routes.

 

Soon he realized where they were going -- and where else might it have been but to the dungeons. Arthur was amazed with how easy it was for the old man to flash the door open, exposing the scene inside. The bit of moonlight trickled through the window, and after a few seconds he could see how Merlin was laid down, on his back, his arms resting at his sides, like a corpse. For a moment, Arthur froze, terrified of what he had done, but soon the spell pulled him into the cell. He tripped, horrified, as Gaius pushed him down easily next to the head of the cot.

 

He had no choice but to sit down, Gaius manhandling him with sinew and magic at once, binding the manacles above the cot to his wrists. The physician stepped back, and finally dropped the spell forcing his movements. Arthur automatically lunged forward, trying to get free, trying to get to him - to shake some sense into the old man - but it was no use. The bindings held, and his arms hurt at the effort.

 

Still, Merlin didn’t move, and as the man opened the door and stepped out, Arthur felt a coldness creeping through his body. He was not scared of death, and had stood vigil for many people before, even some whose death was on his hands, but none that he had loved - needed - the way he did Merlin. The guilt seemed to tear him apart as he yelled.

 

“DON’T LEAVE ME - I WON’T - DON’T…”

 

Yet, Gaius came back in not a moment afterwards, a stool in his hand, and sat down next to Merlin’s inert form, taking the younger man’s hands in his own, caressing it lightly. Arthur could only stare, the pain of his mistakes drowning him for long moments before his eyes fully adapted to darkness, and he could see the scene before him, clear as day.

 

The physician, sitting with his protegee’s hand cradled in his, tears streaming down his face; himself, sat bound by his head, his arms stuck behind him, and Merlin - still as he had never been in life, bruises marring the pale skin of his neck and shoulders, that the nightshirt didn’t cover. Arthur drank in the sight, blinking away his tears, shunning his sorrow, forcing himself to face the enormity of his mistakes, the monster he had become - worse, far worse than whatever he had accused Merlin of being earlier.

 

Then, in the stillness of the night, a movement. Slight, but undeniable, the expending of ribs as air came in, and the raspy, weak sound of breath coming out through plush lips.

 

Merlin was alive.

 

* * *

 

 

The ultimate betrayal, that was how the allies of Camelot would call it. The moment he finally lost his mind. The last drop in a cup long due to overflow.

 

Maybe they’d say it was all Merlin - that he had been enchanted from the start.

 

It didn’t matter - they’d never understand him, have him, see him. They’d never see beyond Uther’s complete foolishness and Arthur’s lack of education; humans they were, no doubt, but far too simple and animalistic to fully comprehend the blessing that had been given - and cast away so lightly - by the foolish king.

 

And he, who had trusted him, believed in him, raised him - he who had held Arthur in his arms when he was alive for little more than minutes, who saw his eyes open to the world at first, would also be the one to see them open for the last time. It was fitting - bookends, really. It couldn’t be helped - it was not his fault, not really. It was his blood - the accursed Pendragon blood, that tainted him, that kept tying him when he should be magic’s and Ygraine’s, a golden king long foreseen.

 

Once, Uther had been a golden king too, long ago, for a short while after he learned how to love, but the curse in his blood had claimed him swiftly when the child had been granted. It had ruled him for more than twenty years, a reign of madness. It had won his daughter too, shedding behind all the grace and wisdom that her mother had once had, keeping only the darkness inside. It was but a matter of time until Arthur followed their steps, and he finally had.

 

How unsurprising.

 

Arthur was always going to become a monster, that was Uther’s true legacy.

 

“I’m- I never wanted to be like him.”

 

Gaius blinked, only then realizing he had been rambling his thoughts out loud.

 

“You’re worse” he said, because Arthur was. “Uther- he lost so much, even before your mother. What do you even know of this land, my boy?”

 

Arthur flinched, hearing what had once been an endearment turn to venom, but he could not care, he didn’t care anymore. It was done. It was going to be over, soon.

 

“I know my father had to fight for his kingdom - fight magic.”

 

Gaius laughed at that, but there was no humor in this. The boy didn’t know - he had no idea - how much Uther had depended on magic to win. Undoubtedly, he would deny it even now, even as he spoke and explained it all. He would deny it, because that was the Pendragon way, closing their eyes to everything that meant they could possibly be wrong.

 

For a while, they had tainted him too with it.

 

Not anymore.

 

“It was not _magic_  that he fought - magic fought _for him_. Magic users, all across Albion, marched under his banner as he came to reclaim his ancient right, to restore Camelot to the Pendragon line - though the goddess know how most of them lived to regret it.”

 

Arthur shook his head, in denial.

 

“No - a sorcerer king killed my grandfather and ensorcelled my grandmother…”

 

“True” Gaius agreed, with a sneer. “But Vortigern did not use magic to win - he slayed your grandfather in fair combat. That Rowena forsworn her own children and chose to marry him was… Unfortunate, but no surprise. There had never been love lost between her and Constans, she was nothing but a pawn in a game, a body to be traded in an alliance between her father and husband. Constans - he never stopped reminding her of it, and some of my first training as a physician came from caring for her abuse. Vortigern did not claim her with the castle or the lands he won in campaign, he showed her courtesy, he respected her, he offered her a safe return to the Southron lands, where the saxons lived. If he enchanted her, it was not with a spell, but with honor and kindness, things she had never experienced before. If someone used magic, it was her, and seduced him utterly on the celebration of Beltane. She was no maid, but she was a Queen, and a Queen of Camelot, and once it was clear she was with child, honor demanded he married her.”

 

“No- no. He hurt her - he forced her - my father’s very first memories were of her wounds and the way she cried whenever he visited her. I won’t believe you.”

 

The old man could do nothing but shake his head, eyes traveling to Merlin’s form as he spoke.

 

“She believed - as people in love often do - that he would never turn against her. She believed that he would be a good man, a better man, that he would forgive anything - but gave him nothing but girls, time and time again - and he could not forgive that. Whatever your father said, the truth is that, to the end, she called it love - brutal, yes, but _love_. She believed he loved her - even when he used her as if she was a thing and not a person.”

 

Gaius looked to Arthur through the corner of his eye, and the taint in his face was all admittance he needed. Damn Pendragons, all of them.

 

“Eventually, Vortigern too, fell into an abyss - and his iron rule became a hindrance to the land. Uther was but a younger child then, a man unprepared to rule. It was your uncle that they followed - a good man, a just man, a man that wanted nothing but his birthright back. A man that was good at making alliances, good at compromise. He united dragonlords and priestesses, druids and common people, all committed to freeing Camelot from the rule of a lord who had stepped so low as to invite _Saxons_  to our home, to take our land.”

 

Gaius had long known he was an old man, far too lost in the past, but now it is almost a relief to think of those days.

 

“He was the sort of man Merlin had hoped you’d become.”

 

He didn’t even grant Arthur a chance to try and say anything before continuing.

 

“But - you’re all Uther; who wanted nothing but revenge, whose happiness was in a bloodied sword and not a well-ordered land. Ambrosius was the diplomat, the justice, the ruler - and Uther was but the mad dog that led his armies - at least, until the battle in Guoloph, where Vortigern was finally killed - and so was Ambrosius. It was a dark day, and the skies mourned for the King he never was. It was easy, after that, for Uther to finish his campaign, to march on to the unprotected capital and have himself crowned - but he was never meant to rule.”

 

How the land had suffered from this - and yet, then, there had been space enough in his heart to accept the sisters he won with it, his own ailing mother. On those early days, there had been a feeling of uneasy peace, at least for the people that were from Camelot. The settlers, those lived the same sort of hell Uther would soon foist unto magic users across the five kingdoms. Even then, he had been filled with hatred.

 

And Gaius had been blind to it, hoping for the best, hoping for even a glimpse of the man Uther had been short after marrying Ygraine.

 

How could he blame Merlin for making the same mistakes he had? For believing in men who were better left to die their own miserable deaths? Gaius hadn’t even had the excuse of a dragon talking him into it. He had just believed, and stayed, and hoped, and torn apart his own kin while doing the minimum he could to help. He had poisoned, attacked, denounced and killed his kin. This was his punishment, to see his boys turn to dust.

 

“All he ever did, was to serve you” he spat, one last time. “He trusted you - believed in you - you were to be his destiny, to unite all of Albion, to bring back magic, to rule by his side, with his strength, wisdom and love  - and you abused it, in your madness, twisted it - twisted him. I’ll set him free.”

 

And perhaps - perhaps - they too would call his plans a betrayal, but there was nothing else he could do for the boy. They had waited too much, trusted too much, and now Merlin was too broken - broken toes and broken ribs, bleeding inside and in his heart, in his soul too. He was drowning in guilt he did not deserve, in the blood that should’ve stayed out of his lungs, in all their mistakes and he couldn’t do anything to prevent it.

 

Or maybe they would say it was his atonement, the mercy would pay for his many crimes, giving Merlin freedom at last, away from the Pendragons. It wasn’t easy, but it was the right thing to do for them all. The right thing to do.

 

* * *

  
  


It seemed like they had been silent for an eternity, each lost in their own thoughts and guilts, when Gaius finally moved, raising his hand and running a finger through the markings on Merlin’s skin, until he reached the sorcerer’s cheek.

 

“Wake up” the old man said, without getting any sort of response. “Wake up, Merlin.”

 

When the younger man still did not stir, Gaius raised his head, cradling it in his left arm, while he used the right one to bring a bottle near his nose. Such a gentle touch, and yet, it’s the first time Merlin reacted, as if the smell alone - strong as it was - could bring him out of the shadows that had engulfed him, almost robbing him of breath.

 

“Not a word” the old man muttered, and Arthur could only nod. For all the things he imagined - said - learned, he couldn’t face Merlin then, as it would mean facing his own failure, his own fall.

 

Slowly, Merlin blinked into consciousness, his eyes still foggy and unseeing.

 

“It’s all going to be fine soon, my boy” Gaius patted his hand, and Merlin’s eyes roamed to his face, blue facing blue. “I promise you, it will all be fine.”

 

The words were meant to be comforting, but clearly Merlin was far beyond their comfort, tears welling in his eyes and spilling down his sculpted cheekbones as he answered.

 

“Don’t - don’t lie, Gaius” he choked, his voice small. “He hates me. Nothing I ever did - all I ever did was lie to him. He’ll never forgive me. Nothing - nothing I could do would make him see me as anything but a monster” Arthur’s eyes widened, but still he couldn’t bring himself to speak, not when he wasn’t meant to be listening. “May be he is right…”

 

“Don’t say that” the physician chided, his words soft. “You did everything for your king. It’s not your fault, he- he isn’t worthy of you” his manservant tried to shake his head in disagreement, but there was no room. “No - it’s time. Listen to me. You’re not a monster - you’re my boy, my dear, dear, boy. _He_  is the monster. He takes and takes and takes, he- isn’t worthy.”

 

For a moment, none of them said anything; and although Arthur believed he had cried all the tears he had, they sprung again in seeing Merlin, his Merlin, broken down like this - crying as he hadn’t done since the dragon had terrorized Camelot - tears of loss and guilt, and yet he doubted Merlin felt even a fraction of the loss and guilt he felt now.

 

“Gaius, I don’t…” Merlin took a deep breath. “Nothing hurts anymore.”

 

The physician choked, swallowing his tears before replying.

 

“I know, my boy”. He put his hand down his robes, picking yet another bottle, and with an ease that came from decades of practice, he uncorked it with one hand. “Can you drink something for me, please? It- it’ll help.”

 

All response he got was a tiny nod, and Gaius tilted his head up, leading the bottle to the battered lips, and Merlin drank it all.

 

“Thank you”, Merlin said, eyes blinking again, their impossible shade of blue hidden by the darkness. Then, he closed his eyes, body going immediately slack.

 

Gaius stood as soon as Merlin was back into his slumber, and started pacing. Arthur envied him for it, for there was nothing that would help him more than moving, but there was no question of Gaius allowing him - it was clear, so very clear, that he didn’t trust Arthur at all. Since he couldn’t, he did the only other thing he _could_  do and allowed himself  to slump, body held only by the iron on his wrists. Occasionally, he felt the physician’s eyes upon him, but he didn’t move, didn’t look up until the pacing stopped.

 

“It’s done”.

 

There was a world of sorrow in Gaius’ words, and Arthur found himself afraid - far, far more afraid than he had been earlier, when Gaius first used magic against him, or even earlier, alone with Merlin, or even before, seeing his manservant’s eyes turn gold. The tone in Gaius voice -- like something long dead, crawled through his skin, turning the world upside down once again.

 

“What did you do?” Arthur demanded, head snapping up.

 

“I gave him mercy.”

 

The worst part of it wasn’t even the words themselves, but the voice in which they were spoken, unbending, sure, steady. A very long call from the man that had invaded his rooms without managing to form a sentence, a long way from the mentor recounting in pieces and scraps years of brilliance from his tutor, years of loyalty, that were now repaid with death.

 

Death.

 

As the true meaning behind the sentence finally made itself known in Arthur’s head, he didn’t believe it - and gasped.

 

“No - NO! GAIUS!” He roared, uncaring, struggling once again with the manacles even knowing that they wouldn’t give. “YOU DIDN’T!”

 

“HE DESERVED MERCY!” The other man answered in the same tone.

 

“HE DESERVED FREEDOM.”

 

“And that, sire, you’d never give him” he replied, and Arthur couldn’t even answer.

 

“I wouldn’t keep him here.”

 

“No - you’d take him to the pyre, or worse, have him on a leash around you for decades, as an animal, or a thing you use as you please - no. No more. I say no more.”

 

Gaius words were bitter, his eyes wild - and there was a flash of movement Arthur could barely see before he felt cold iron against his ribcage. All air left him in a second, a worse blow than it would have otherwise been for how deserved it was.

 

“I may be old, but I have all night to do this - and all right too.”

 

A second later, the next blow landed, and Arthur barely flinched. He’d take it - all of it, even if it meant his death - because it was nothing compared to the torture that he had put Merlin through in the last decade. And now, with him gone… It would be mercy, too, if his life were to end. Gaius hit in again and again, until Arthur lost count, until, eventually, he heard the iron clattering against the stone.

 

“I can’t-” the old man’s breath was feeble, and he was crying one again. “Once, long ago - once you were my boy too.”

 

* * *

 

  
Wrists raw, lips chapped, dry throat, drier eyes. Sunlight hurt him, too much gold - and gold told a story that wasn't always true.

 

Far, very far, he could hear the first guards rousing from their dosed slumber, but fear kept them away from the closed cell. Fear of magic, fear of his anger. From what he could see, they were right to fear.

 

Even Uther hadn't come as low as this. Gaius had outlived him, though not always with ease. If his father had never stood to his friend's defence when accusations came, still he didn't sink his hands in their blood.

 

Time had no meaning in the company of the dead. Their lungs were as still as his heart, whose heartbeats were surely an illusion. He must me dead. He remembered the feeling of steel against his body, Gaius' punishment and revenge. Even a warrior’s body collapses eventually to the madness born of grief. It wasn't the death he had expected, but it was the one he deserved: hidden, ashamed, betrayer and betrayed.

 

The only similarity to his imagination was in Merlin's form by his side. He had long believed that even when he met his end, his manservant would be by his side. Maybe it would be his arms cradling his body as it abandoned life. Maybe then he'd be able to say the things that, as a warrior, a knight,  a Prince, a king he could not.

 

Reality was far more bitter, but it would do. It was far better than living with the knowledge that he was responsible for the destruction of the one man he could always count on.

 

The castle stirred from its sleep, and how surprising was it that from beyond the veil the could see and hear it all, his people walking around, living their lives as on an ordinary day. The animals being chased around the patio, the horses from knights coming from patrols with reports he'd never hear. It was for the best. All the maladies that had befallen this land in the last 30, 40 years had been brought by Pendragon's hands, the hubris and the insanity in their flesh.

 

It was time for it to be over.

 

Gwen would do right by the people, she'd be able to do things he never could, with his prejudice, his upbringing. She might even manage to persuade Morgana to peace, she had always had a way of swaying his sister like nobody else had. If not, Leon was more than competent enough to win the battle that would come.

 

It was not so bad, dying. He could just let go of everything. Eventually, he might even make peace with his mistakes.

 

It would be better if he wasn’t so alone, if he could see the other dead people, talk to them, make amends.

 

The idea frightened him a bit, too, for this would mean too many innocents dead by his hand. Yet, he was not enough of a coward to deny that he deserved whatever they threw at him. He had eternity to apologize to them, even if words were all he could offer then. To think he owned so much - but in the end, we were nothing but ideas floating around.

 

Yet, as Gwen’s voice rang frightened, it became more difficult to simply be. He didn’t want her to suffer - even if he knew she was strong enough to handle it. There could be no confusion in the rustling of her large skirts, in the snappiness of her voice as she ordered the door to be opened. Not long then, before she found out the truth. At least he’d see her one more time.

 

“Arthur!” There was both relief and shock in her voice when she saw him. He wanted to say something, but it would probably be futile, so he just stared at her, drank his fill of her face, one last time. “Give me the keys!”

 

Gwen approached, and all he saw was red, she didn’t even seem to notice how wrong everything was - or how he wasn’t anymore. He heard the lock clicking, but he felt nothing, not that he expected to. Gwen pulled him against her body, and it was surprisingly warm.

 

“Arthur!” she said again, shaking him, and it seemed irrelevant, but still he spoke.

 

“I’m sorry” his voice was but a croak, and suddenly there was pain - so much pain, as if thousands of needles were breaking his skin. Arthur blinked, reflexively, and there were tears in Gwen’s eyes. “I’m sorry” he repeated, not knowing what else to do.

 

The Queen took a deep breath, before her eyes moved to the forms on the cot. Merlin, his skin translucent in the daylight, a sharp contrast with his hair. His eyes were closed, and he seemed almost at peace, almost asleep, if it weren’t for the way that his body didn’t move at all. Gaius was face down on the cot, but equally unmoving.

 

She stepped back, her hand moving towards the physician, resting on his shoulder, trying to pull him away, but the body wouldn’t budge.

 

“Gaius!” she called, and she seemed desperate, and Arthur couldn’t react. She gave the old man a sharper pull, and he finally fell back, straight to the floor, a corpse. Her scream rang through the stone walls, reverberating as if a banshee had suddenly appeared in Camelot. It took but a second for the two guards to rush inside, and all colour left their faces.

 

“Your majesty!” Gwen’s face was marked with tears, her mouth still wide open in shock. At their call, she seemed to regain some control.

 

“The king needs water - and see if you can find anyone with knowledge in healing and medicine in the lower town.”

 

She waited for them to leave before she turned around, the sorrow and pain on her face showing she knew exactly what she was about to face as she stared fixedly at Merlin. Gwen took a deep breath, a step closer, and kneeled on the floor as if she were still a servant, hands flying right to Merlin’s neck, only to find no pulse.

 

Gwen was crying now, and Arthur hated himself more than ever. He tainted everything he touched. She shook her head minutely, before staring right at him.

 

“What happened?”

 

But if there had ever been words she could hear, he didn’t know them.

 

His wife held him around the shoulders, as if her will alone could give him life, shaking him.

 

“Arthur, for god’s sake!” she cursed, before she let go of him and slapped him right in the face.

 

It broke the spell, though he would never be able to tell if it was magic or just horror that had made him feel so sure he was dead. Arthur gasped, bringing his hand to his chest, to find his heart beating, his arms still pained and awkward after being held so long. He looked at her, and any other day, the disappointment and disgust on her face would be enough to make him want to die, but it all paled in comparison to the true nightmare that his life had become.

 

Arthur wrapped his right hand against his raw left wrist, still trying to comprehend everything.

  


“Why?” she asked, and the tears kept on falling down. “Why, Arthur, why?”

 

“I didn’t….” he tried, but it was hard to speak when his throat seemed to be as inflexible as his ideals had been. “I didn’t kill him - them.”

 

Sobs racked through her body, and even the return of the guard with a jar filled with water didn’t seem to prompt her towards decorum. Arthur accepted it, trying to drink, but it just seemed to make it all burn more fiercely. It didn’t take long for the guard to understand how much of an intrusion his presence was and walk back outside, though he didn’t bother closing the door this time. There was no way to keep it secret.

 

“I didn’t kill him” Arthur repeated, but it was a hollow truth, and they both knew it. “But I did, I- I killed him, Gwen, but I didn’t murder him. I didn’t. I didn’t do it. It’s my fault. I didn’t do it.”

 

There was pity in her eyes, mixed with everything else, when she looked back at him.

 

“Why couldn’t they just.. Tell me? Trust me?” he sighed, airway closed. “Was everyone so wrapped up in my… _destiny_  that they couldn’t trust me?” Arthur didn’t want to look, didn’t want it to be his last memory of the man that brought him so much, but still his eyes strayed to the corpse by his side, the head almost on his lap. Slowly but consciously, he lowered his hand, allowing it to sink in Merlin’s hair, to feel it, to caress him one last time. “Merlin… My… Merlin.”

 

He had no idea how long they just stood there, the queen crying and his hand exploring all the angles and curves of Merlin’s face, committing each of them to memory, recalling the feel of them alive and warm under his fingers, the softness of his lips, the sharpness of the cheekbones.

 

“I’m sorry I failed you” he muttered, eventually, when he couldn’t take it anymore, when the force of his guilt and pain was about to tear him beyond fixing. He stood up, not daring to look at his wife, not daring to face this last condemnation right now. He was about to reach the door when Leon appeared, gazing at the scene stunned.

 

“What happened?”

 

He could trust Leon with much, but not with this - so he merely shook his head. Apparently, it was enough for his first knight.

 

“I’ll make arrangements.”

 

And part of Arthur wanted to yell against it, wanted to lay down next to Merlin’s corpse and give up, but he _couldn’t_ , not after all that he heard. He had to go on - to fight and continue, to believe that although he had failed his destiny - and worse, Merlin - the least he could do was to try and make him proud, to use his actions while still alive to give him peace, to be the man Merlin had believed he could be.

 

Not now - but one day.

 

He stepped out into the corridor, eyes unseeing, moving in pure instinct as he tried to leave the dungeons, to step into the light after a life in the darkness.

 

“My King…” the voice rings in his ears as a whisper, traitorously soft and so much like Merlin’s his head almost snapped back at it. “Where do you think to go without me?”

  


**Author's Note:**

> I should disclaim some things (which I didn't do at the top for spoiler reasons): 
> 
> The title is a Doctor Who reference, why, yes. 
> 
> The lines "Your oaths are all profanities, your words a curse - your name on a paper is a waste of pulp.I'm vilifying you, for God's sake, pay attention."/"How, from where we started, did we ever reach this day?" - are not mine and are paraphrased from "The Lion In Winter", which is a 1960's play about Henry II, his wife, lover and sons - filled with angst, pain, love and more than a hint of slash. It was also made into a Oscar Winning Movie in 1968; starring the wonderful Peter O'Tole and Katherine Hepburn (she won the Oscar for it!) as Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine; also containing one of Antony Hopkins earliest works, and being a romantic pairing with Timothy Dalton. Absolutely worth checking. 
> 
> (There's also a TV version of the movie, done in 2003, with Glenn Close (who got a Golden Globe for her part - it's clearly a beloved part of the academia) and Patrick Stuart in the leading roles that was also stunning, and which I particularly favour; Jonathan Rhys-Meyers gives an outstanding performance as Philip II of France as well).
> 
> I came across it at the late Kink Me!Merlin, in this prompt: http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/34275.html?thread=35826915#t35826915 and I've been meaning to fill it ever since, so I guess there's that? Anyway, the utter brilliance of it does not belong to me and the whole brilliance of the play SHOULD be experimented.


End file.
